The Holy Grail
by AquilaTempestas
Summary: When a mysterious tub of hair gel goes missing, Mystel and Brooklyn embark on a journey to find it.


**Disclaimer**

The rights to Beyblade belong to Takao Aoki. Boris's quotes belong to Barnaby Joyce (an Australian politician)

**Title**

The Holy Grail

**Summary**

When a mysterious tub of hair gel goes missing, Mystel and Brooklyn embark on a journey to find it.

**.**

"Careful..." Brooklyn muttered, staring at his ginger hair in the mirror. "Must get this perfect..." he trailed off, running his palm through his hair. He placed his hand at the front of his head, quickly and evenly applying the gel to his hair. Slowly, he worked it in deeply using his fingers, applying the gel to the root.

After producing ginger spikes in his hair, he smiled in the mirror. He was quite proud of his achievement. It took quite a lot of skill to get his hair perfect. "Who's that handsome guy in the mirror?" he said vainly, admiring himself in the mirror.

"Brooklyn! What are you doing in there?" shouted Garland, the strict captain of the BEGA League. 'I need to use to use the bathroom!" he added, in an urgent tone clutching his crotch furiously, jumping up and down. _(thanks to __blazinggig-fox for the idea)_

"In a minute!" Brooklyn shouted back. "I'm busy!"

"Busy doing what?"

"You wouldn't understand."

Garland growled. "If you're applying gel to your hair again..." he threatened, his voice lower than usual. Garland couldn't understand why it took over an hour to create 'spiky' hair. Personally, he thought the whole 'spiky' hair thing was ridiculous! He preferred long, shiny hair for that was truly the manly way of life – to have long hair.

"You're just jealous of my beautiful hair," Brooklyn shouted back, creating more spikes in his hair. He was a perfectionist by nature and he would not settle for anything less. People like Garland did not understand that hair gel was akin to the Holy Grail.

Realizing Brooklyn wasn't going to come out anytime too soon, Garland grumpily stomped downstairs. "Stupid vain ginger," he muttered under his breath.

"What's the matter Garland?" asked Crusher, the human mountain. "Something bothering you?"

"Brooklyn is busy 'beautifying' himself in the bathroom again! He does this every morning!" Garland complained. "I don't mind if he has to use it... if he only stayed in there for less than ten minutes!" he raged.

"Is he applying hair gel again?" Crusher asked knowingly.

Garland sighed and nodded. "Yes. And he's taking forever. Honestly, it can't possibly take one hour to apply gel to his hair!"

Crusher shrugged. "I don't know. I don't have hair," he said, pointing to his hair-free scalp. "Less stressful."

"How so?"

"Well, you don't have to worry about applying hair gel for starters. And you don't have to worry about dandruff."

"What about a sunburnt head?" Garland implied bluntly. It could happen.

Crusher looked thoughtful. "I hadn't thought of that..."

Garland sighed. Sometimes Crusher could be so slow. "Where are Ming Ming and Mystel? We need to go and buy some presents. Boris is panicking – thinks we don't have enough presents," he said, casting a glance at the Christmas tree. There were currently thirty-nine presents under the tree. "Either he's planning on giving a present to each and every beyblader, or he's bought himself many gnomes again."

"Gnomes?"

"The man is obsessed with gnomes. He wants the entire collection. Apparently, he plans to give them as a gift to his forthcoming wife - Judy. You know she loves gnomes."

"Oh," was Crusher's comment.

"I heard my name!" said a high-pitched voice. Garland and Crusher turned towards the source. Short, slender and sweet, Ming Ming was the ideal princess. Smiling, she walked up to them, her finger wrapped around her aquamarine curls. "What's up boys?"

"Brooklyn is busy in the bathroom again," Garland explained. "Applying gel to his hair," he added. "Stupid vain pretty-boy ginger."

"He's so cute though!" Ming Ming squeaked excitedly. "He's got beautiful hair..." she sighed dreamily.

Garland was offended. "My hair is beautiful!"

Ming Ming shook her head. "It's pretty... but not beautiful. Brooklyn puts a lot of work into his hair, you should give him more credit Garland."

Garland threw his hands up in the air frustrated. "It's not hard! All you do is stick your fingers in a tub of hair gel and run it through your hair!"

"Yes... if you want a hairstyle likes yours Garland. Brooklyn likes his spiky hair... and that takes effort."

Garland opened his mouth to reply when suddenly Brooklyn let out a high-pitched scream. "NNNNOOOOOOO!"

"Brooklyn?"

"THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!"

Garland, Crusher and Ming Ming exchanged worried glances. What had happened to upset Brooklyn? Worried, the three quickly ran up the stairs towards the bathroom. Ming Ming knocked on the door. "What's the matter?"

They heard a sniff from inside and soon, the door opened. As soon as the door opened, Garland quickly shoved Brooklyn aside and entered. "I ran out of hair gel... and the last tub is missing!" he said, almost breaking down in tears. "It's terrible I tell you!" he said, sniffing.

Footsteps were soon heard and the four turned to face a worn out, panic stricken Mystel. "The gel! What happened to it?" he asked.

"I don't know... it's gone missing."

A look of despair crossed Mystel's features. He ran tanned fingers through his platinum blonde locks and cast a desperate look at Ming Ming. "Ming Ming, do you have anything to keep my hair up?" he asked.

She shook her head sadly. "Sorry Mystel, but I have no hair products to keep your hair intact. How much gel do you boys use anyway?"

Brooklyn shrugged. "I only use a tub."

"Three!" Mystel said. "I have longer hair."

A flushing noise interrupted the conversation and Garland stepped out looking pleased with himself. "You!" Brooklyn accused, rounding on Garland. "Where did you hide it?" he asked, through clenched jaws.

"What are you talking about?"

"The Holy Grail. Where did you hide it?" Mystel added, also rounding on Garland.

"The Holy Grail? Isn't that some Christian thing? Something to do with a dish or something?" Garland replied.

"Do not insult the sacred tub of hair gel!" Brooklyn hissed. "Come on Mystel, we have to find it."

The blonde nodded in agreement. "We'll be seeing you guys later..." he said, eyeing Garland with distaste. Garland, Crusher and Ming Ming watched as the two males ran off.

"God, they're so idiotic at times," muttered Garland.

"Amen," commented Crusher.

Mystel and Brooklyn searched high and low for the tub of gel. They searched the kitchen, the lounge, the games room, the sporting hall, the music room, the bathroom, the toilet, the greenhouse and even their own bedrooms... but with no success. The tub of gel could not be found.

"Where is it?" whined Brooklyn. "My hair is starting to stiffen," he added fearfully, touching one of his orange spikes. "I'm going to have to start all over again..."

"Don't panic yet Brooklyn, there is still hope," said Mystel. "Where have we not looked?"

"Crusher's bedroom!"

"Crusher doesn't have hair. Why would he have gel?"

"Maybe he thought it was lubricant..." Brooklyn trailed off.

Mystel shook his head. "Crusher's smarter than that. Anyhow, he wouldn't touch your stuff anyway. He knows how angry you get when people touch your stuff without asking."

"Well, who else would have it? Ming Ming?" Brooklyn retorted.

"It's possible; after all, it's the only hair product she does not have."

Brooklyn contemplated Mystel's comment. Perhaps he was right... "Right, let's check Ming Ming's room then."

The two males walked towards Ming Ming's room, cautiously as if they expected to be ambushed. Brooklyn placed his hand on the door knob and turned it clockwise. The door opened and they stepped inside, gazing around the room looking for the tub of gel. "No sign of it," commented Brooklyn.

Mystel didn't reply. He was standing in front of Ming Ming's mirror, fixing his hair. Brooklyn joined him in his hair fixing activities. When both were satisfied with their appearance, they left the room. "Nothing in Ming Ming's room... let's try Garland's."

Without trading another word, both Brooklyn and Mystel crept towards Garland's room. Strangely, his door was unlocked which was highly unusual for the captain. "That's strange; his door is unlocked," remarked Brooklyn, scratching his head.

Mystel shrugged. "Who cares? The door is open."

And so they entered the room. "I've never been in here before," Mystel commented, gazing around. "Didn't realize Garland was a neat-freak," he added, looking at his bed. There were no creases in his sheets.

"He's so organized," Brooklyn said, pointing at Garland's bookshelf. All the books were organized in height order and books that shared the same height were organized by thickness. Brooklyn shook his head sadly. "What a sad, lonely person he is. Because he doesn't have a daily hair routine, he spends his time organizing his room." He shook his head again.

"I don't think it's in here," Mystel said. "Let's mess his room up."

Brooklyn shrugged. "Sure, why not?" He picked up Garland's pillow and threw it across the room.

Mystel picked up the other pillow and hit Brooklyn with it, laughing at Brooklyn's expression. Brooklyn growled, picked up the pillow and hit the blonde back, twice as hard. Fortunately, pillows didn't hurt. "Pillow fight!" Mystel declared, hitting Brooklyn with another pillow. Soon, a vicious pillow fight began with both boys hitting each other with the soft pillows. After several minutes of fighting, Brooklyn called quits complaining the fighting messed with his hair.

"That was fun," concluded Mystel. "Where could the gel be?" he wondered.

Silence fell between the two as they thought about the possible whereabouts of the gel. "Boris," said Brooklyn.

Mystel didn't comment; there was no need to. He didn't think Boris would have the hair gel, but Boris was a surprising individual. Perhaps he used it for something.

"Boris!" Brooklyn shouted at the top of his lungs. He was growing agitated – his hair was messy and wild looking. It looked as though he had been caught in a tornado. Mystel was equally agitated; his two hours of hair spiking had gone to waste. Now he looked like an angry echidna.

Familiar yells coming from the office room alerted Brooklyn and Mystel to Boris's loud voice. They ventured closer to the room, and lay down on the floor placing their heads up against the crack at the bottom.

"That psycho chook from the manic monkey cafe stole my wallet!" yelled Boris into his iPhone. "No... I don't want your sympathy, I want my wallet back! It had my gnome voucher in there!" he added, in a louder voice. "I should've thrown my inner-suburbia nirvana-ville at him!"

Brooklyn and Mystel exchanged worried glances. Gnome voucher? Psycho chook? Manic monkey cafe? Perhaps those power management classes had messed with his mind. "What's wrong with him?" Mystel asked, slightly fearful. He always knew Boris was mad but he didn't know he was senile.

"That's a nice sounding latte," Brooklyn said, a dreamy expression overtaking his features.

Mystel nudged him hard. "Listen!"

"Global warming is caused by hot weather, solar flares and your plane!" Boris spat into the phone. "I tell you, the whole cows farting thing is silly!"

Mystel chuckled lightly. "Farting cows."

Brooklyn arched his brows in surprise. "Boris is interested in global warming?"

Mystel scoffed. "As if. He doesn't know anything about it for starters."

"True."

"It's a conspiracy to create a one-world Beyblading government! We are all doomed."

"What is he talking about?" Mystel asked.

Brooklyn shook his head. "No idea, still trying to get the logic behind the farting cows."

"I'm telling you, the current BBA board hates fried rice!"

"Stanley Dickenson hates fried rice?" Brooklyn asked aloud. "That's a new one."

"I only said that because it was a good line at the time. Now look, it depends who's in charge this week. If that bastard Voltaire is in charge, he will tax beybladers."

"That bastard!" Brooklyn muttered.

"Amen," said Mystel.

"Unregistered bladers trying to compete in BEGA tournaments are someone else's problem. No, it's not an Indonesian plot...this is a trick question isn't it?" Boris asked. "No, Stanley Dickenson isn't dead yet."

Brooklyn scratched his head again. He was really confused. Was Boris on drugs?

"Is it anywhere near me? No? Good, bring it on but don't give stuff to Voltaire and make sure the bladers get it cheap."

"What are we getting cheap?" Mystel asked, turning to face Brooklyn.

He shrugged. "Hopefully, we get cheap hair gel."

"Icky!" Boris suddenly shouted slamming the iPhone down. He sighed heavily.

"Icky?" Mystel repeated. "What the hell is wrong with the man?"

"I don't know bu-hey Boris!" Brooklyn said smiling as Boris exited the office.

"Hello boys, what brings you hear?" he asked, smiling back. Quite a creep sight really.

"Erm, have you seen our hair gel?" Mystel asked.

Boris shook his head. "That's what I was talking about on the phone. I was going to buy some more but I didn't know the hair product. So I brought your one to the shops when some psycho chook stole it from me," he explained, sighing deeply.

"So you were talking about hair gel?"

Boris nodded. "Yes. The BBA Board plans on banning hair gel from future Beyblading Tournaments. Stanley claims hair gel is quite distracting and gives the blader an unfair advantage. He claims opponents are distracted by hair gel."

"What about Voltaire?"

"Voltaire doesn't want to prohibit bladers using hair gel. However, if he becomes chairman he will tax beybladers for the hair gel," he explained. "I've been talking with the BBA Board, trying to convince them Stanley's plan is unfoolish and unfair."

"So... no hair gel then?" Mystel asked, looking slightly disappointed.

"Sorry. No hair gel until I win the battle in the courts which might not be for quite sometime."

Mystel and Brooklyn both sighed. "Now what?"

.

And that's another one shot down the drain. Review please!


End file.
